


give me a kiss (give me another night with you)

by OnyxSphinx



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1970s, M/M, gay bars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29927586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: Dmitri and Yuriy share a smoke and talk about their one-night stand.
Relationships: Dmitri Ivanovich Abramoff/Yuriy Andreyevich Eremenko
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	give me a kiss (give me another night with you)

The lights of the sign shine down on him; blue and gold; the night air permeating the thin jacket he’s wearing, making him shiver slightly; a reminder of his childhood. 

He’s been standing outside for a good ten minutes; waiting for the right moment to come for him to step inside; but so far, it hasn’t made its appearance; just left him out in the cold. 

The inside of  _ The Wondr _ looks warm and inviting; the dark leather booths taken up by men and their drinks, and more at the bar. He can hear the music through the panes of glass; something loud and peppy; a lot like the establishment’s owner. 

Dmitri sighs; decides he’s stalled for long enough; might as well get it over with. 

He pushes the door open; the metal handle cold against his skin; and a moment later the warmth of the inside hits him. Hardly anyone notices his entrance as he eases the door closed behind him. 

He makes his way to the bar. “One vodka, please,” he orders.

Yuriy, serving another customer, raises his brow. “Leaning in to the stereotype, eh?” he teases; and then, to Alexei, the other barkeep, to whom Dmitri addressed his order, says, “I’ll get his order in a moment.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Dmitri grumbles; suddenly feeling hot beneath his collar. 

Yuriy hands the man he’s serving his drink; makes his way over to where Dmitri is. “No. But perhaps I just want to.”

Dmitri stares at the wood of the counter; trying to decide what to say. In the end, Yuriy saves him the trouble; sliding a shot glass of strong-smelling vodka over to him. “I would tell you not to drink it too fast,” he says, the harshness of his accent slightly mellowed by the sound around them, “but I think you would ignore me.”

Dmitri raises his glass in a mock salute; downs it in one go, not even flinching as it burns its way down his throat, all sharp and clarifying. “A second,” he requests. 

Yuriy sighs; pulls the bottle of vodka back out. “My break is in a few minutes,” he says. “We can go to the back and talk, if you want.”

_ Not particularly, _ he thinks. “Alright,” is what he says, because that’s the best course of action. 

The other hesitates for a moment; and then: “Take it easy with that one, we don’t want you too drunk to get home.”

“Home is three blocks away,” Dmitri says; mulishly; but grudgingly sips at the shot rather than downing it proper this time. 

A few minutes later, he’s finished the shot, and Yuriy slips out from behind the bat, trading off with the third and final barkeep, who’s just arrived for his shift, Tom. “Alright,” he says, “let’s go out back.”

Wordlessly, Dmitri follows him through the throng of bodies on the dance floor and out to the alley in the back, away from the noise. There’s a few alley cats skulking around, and they scatter when Yuriy and Dmitri step out into the alley. 

Yuriy doesn’t say anything; just leans against the wall and pulls out a cigarette and lights it, pressing it to his lips and drawing in a breath before letting out a white plume of smoke which curls elegantly in the dark night. “You want?” he offers, pulling the cigarette from his lips and offering it to Dmitri. 

Dmitri hesitates; and then, against his better judgement, takes it; pulling a long drag and exhaling his own plume of pale smoke; passes it back to Yuriy. 

“How’s Nadzeya?” the other asks.

Dmitri shrugs. “Her studies are going well,” he says. “She has many friends.”

Yuriy hums. silence fills the air; hanging heavy between them; and Dmitri itches to break it; but refuses to be the first to speak. In the end, Yuriy says, “That night—” and pauses; takes another drag of the cigarette before passing it back to Dmitri. 

_ It was a mistake _ , Dmitri considers saying. A lie, but perhaps one that would fit the situation. The truth— _ the best night I’ve had in years _ —is too much to speak. He lets the silence pay its dues instead. 

Yuriy’s voice cuts through the night like a blade. “Do you think it could happen again?” 

Dmitri reels for a moment; protests springing to his lips and dying just as quickly as he realises how much they sound like coward’s excuses. 

He wants—that’s the problem. He wants but doesn’t think he ought to have. It’s a fun little conundrum, inlaid with self-reproach and embellished with a healthy dose of paranoia. 

What comes out is: “We own rival bars.”

Yuriy throws his head back and laughs; the sound startling, cracking the thick night air into pieces. “I thought you’d say something— _ else, _ ” he wheezes out. “Comment on the decade difference, tell me your step-daughter hates me. Not _ that. _ ”

Dmitri flushes. “You are thirty-two,” he points out, “and you  _ know _ Nadzeya thinks you are wonderful. And my point is valid.”

“Not really,” Yuriy says, and blows a plume of smoke at Dmitri. He bats it away half-heartedly. “Besides,” Yuriy continues, “a bit of healthy competition is good in a relationship.”

“Have you been reading women’s magazines?”

The silence speaks for itself. He sighs. Gestures for the cigarette. Lets the acrid smoke fill his lungs. “Alright,” he says. “Let us say I say yes. Then what?”

“Well,” says Yuriy, suddenly incredibly interested in one of the many zippers on his jacket, “I thought perhaps...” he trails off, mumbling something too quiet for Dmitri to hear. 

“What,” Dmitri says, flatly. 

Yuriy doesn’t meet his eyes. “I thought I would ask for a kiss,” he mutters, sullenly. 

Dmitri nearly laughs. “Alright,” he says, instead. “That is...yes. Alright.”

The air between them crackles; the sudden silence jarring; and they stare at each other. Yuriy’s face, previously sullen, shifts momentarily to confused and then surprised and happy. It’s a good look on him. 

Dmitri stubs out the cigarette against the wall; closes the distance between them and kisses Yuriy. 

They stay in each other’s embrace for a long while; and then Yuriy breaks away; sheepish. “My break is almost over,” he explains. 

Dmitri waves him off. “It is fine.”

“You can hang around until my shift is over,” Yuriy proposes; hopefully. “It’s only an hour more.”

He considers it. “Yes,” he says, finally, “I think I will.”

A grin splits Yuriy’s face; wide and charming. “Okay,” he says; and then: “Okay."

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
